


six ways to settle down

by Anonymous



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Moving In Together, Multi, Phone Sex, Polyamory, this fic is just a hug on a lonely night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 17:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15539199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “You replaced me,” Ronan says, faux-wounded. Jon shoved his fingers into his side to get Ronan to crack a smile. He squirms out of Jon’s hold, resting his chin on Jon’s shoulder.“I didn’t replace you,” Jon says. “I supplemented you.”Ronan sighs. “Details.”“Asshole.”





	six ways to settle down

**Author's Note:**

> enters new fandom, immediately dumps soft feelings and LDR conflicts on fandom.
> 
> thanks to ang and mel for being the ABSOLUTE BEST two betas/cheerleaders/hip fellow podsa people, and for encouraging me to take the 5+1 format and instead split it into 3+3, with ronan moving out to LA as the turning point.
> 
> working titles for this fic included "six evenings", "lovett or love him", and "a tale of two surrogates". 
> 
> as always, keep it on the down low.

“We’re calling him,” Favs says. Redundant, given the shrill ring of the Facetime tone that filled the room just before he opened his mouth.

 

“Uh,” Jon manages from where Tommy’s biting down on the thin skin under his ear. God, it fucking  _ tickles _ . He writhes a little in the small space between the vee of Favs’ legs as Tommy blankets him. “Cool. Great.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Favs says, and he’s too smug to be sitting behind Jon’s head. Jon elbows him in the thigh. 

 

“Relax,” Tommy murmurs, his thumbs sweeping Jon’s hair off his forehead. Jon pulls him down for another kiss, impatient with the need to be touched. His sex drive isn’t crazy high, but almost three weeks without intimacy aches too much to ignore. 

 

It’d been a while, but when Tommy offered, and Ronan said yes, Jon wasn’t going to act like he was hesitant. 

 

Favs, as usual, is just along for the ride, as well as to provide an annoyingly smooth-bodied narration.

 

Tommy is gentle, but not lazy, slowly getting Jon to open his mouth more, relax into the kiss. It works, like it always does. When Ronan’s “Hello?” comes through the speaker of Jon’s phone, his heart thuds, but he decides not to stop. Favs usually says something to Jon to indicate when there’s a camera on him.

 

“Hi,” Favs starts, awkward but charismatic in this baffling kind of way. Jon’s learned not to question it. “You’re at home, yeah?”

 

“Of course,” Ronan says. Jon can easily imagine his smirk. “I assume you’ve got a show for me, if that’s what you open with.”

 

“We’ll see,” Favs says, and then there’s a pause. He must switch the camera, because Ronan cusses quietly. “Hi, Jonathan.”

 

Jon pulls back from where his teeth are pulling against Tommy’s lower lip. “Hey, babe. Well. Uh. I can’t see you, but hi.”

 

“You look good,” Ronan responds. The fondness in his voice is infectious. “Tommy, try his pulse point.”

 

Tommy grazes his teeth over Jon’s throat. One of his hands pushes under Jon’s shirt. His deft, calloused fingers squeeze Jon’s hip, and Jon only has so much patience here.

 

“Fuck,” Jon manages. Tommy smiles.

 

There’s a distinct sound of metal and leather behind Jon’s head as Favs undoes his belt and zipper. Jon’s stomach tightens.

 

“Hey, Farrow,” Tommy says, thumbing at Jon’s belt buckle. “What should I do, here?”

 

Ronan considers for a moment. “Whatever you want, as long as you’re being good to him.”

 

Jon’s heart cannot handle him, sometimes.

 

“Hi,” Tommy says quietly, and Jon, miraculously, doesn’t take his eyes off Tommy’s even as there’s a distinct rustle of fabric and a long exhale from the other end of the call.

 

“Hey,” Jon manages, grinning. “Wanna put on a show?”

 

“That’s your expertise,” Tommy counters. “It’s all you, babe.”

 

He leans down, kissing Jon again, gets lost in it. Favs mutters something to Ronan about  _ their boys, _ his ever-courteous  _ thanks for sharing _ that Jon knows Ronan will smile at. 

 

Tommy knows him well enough to not strip him entirely, not leave him too vulnerable. He kisses Jon’s stomach, the crease of his hip, before shucking his pants off and fitting his mouth over the soft cotton panel on Jon’s briefs. Jon sighs, tangling a hand in Tommy’s short hair. Tommy’s breath is warm, and the flat press of his tongue against where Jon’s getting hard is comfortable, satiating. 

 

There’s a slick sound of skin-on-skin. Favs is jacking off. Through the line, a little distorted, Jon can hear Ronan’s tells, too. It lights up something hot and fierce in his body, the excitement of being watched, so obviously wanted.

 

“Tommy,” Jon pleads, after Tommy’s stalled a bit too long for his liking. “Will you  _ please  _ just –”

 

“Go slow,” Ronan finishes from the phone, and Jon laughs, can’t help it. 

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“I wish you could,” Ronan says, and then Tommy’s taking Jon into his mouth, warm and plush and wet, and Jon doesn’t have time to think about it.

 

“God– _ damn  _ you,” Jon exhales, getting his fingers into Tommy’s hair. Tommy takes Jon farther into his mouth. It feels good, after the initial shock. The slick pressure is perfect. Favs hands the phone to Jon, rubbing his temple with his free hand. Jon pushes into it without pulling away from where Tommy’s gently grabbing his thighs to hold him still.

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says from the phone. “Bet you feel so good, babe.”

 

“I really do,” Jon says, quiet, studying Ronan’s face on the screen, the way his arm is working at the edge of the frame. For a second, he imagines Ronan here, kissing him, adding a third person, and it sends a pang of arousal in the tune of  _ holyfuck  _ through his body.

 

“Jon,” Favs says after a moment of quiet. “Can I –” 

 

He gestures with the fingers of his free hand before bringing them down to trace Jon’s mouth. Jon nods. 

 

“Watch,” Favs whispers, and Jon takes two of Favs’ fingers into his mouth, holds the phone at a kind of obscene angle so that Ronan can watch his tongue work while still seeing Favs’ hand on his dick. Favs is pretty, long and cut, the kind of objectively nice dick to match an objectively nice rest of him. Ronan groans.

 

It’s performative, for a moment. Jon always wants his boyfriend to get off first, which isn’t a selfless choice by any means. He just likes to focus fully on whatever is being done to his body. 

 

Plus, like, Ronan biting his lip is really enough to get anyone going. 

 

As Tommy once said, dating a walking thirst trap is  _ such _ a chore.

 

+

 

Two weeks before Ronan’s scheduled to move out to LA, he isn’t really sleeping. 

 

Jon, by proxy, isn’t getting much rest either.

 

His phone goes off at a half hour to midnight. Favs and Tommy are still in the founders’ office with him, finishing their fact checking and cleaning up the last of the editing and the recommended reading to go along with tomorrow’s episode. 

 

The office is fairly dead, except for them and someone on the social staff who’s clacking away at promo and advertiser emails in the kitchenette. The sun is long gone, but no one’s bothered to put a light on. Artificial light floods Tommy’s face as he scowls at his screen.

 

The FaceTime call is from Ronan, who is– still in relatively decent day clothes. It’s almost three in the morning in New York.

 

“Hey, babe, what’s up?” 

 

Ronan yawns. He’s curled up on top of his covers, a notebook scattered to his left, his computer perched haphazardly in the middle of the bed. “I’m just – god, it’s hard to interview survivors.”

 

“I know. I know it is.”

 

Ronan hesitates. He clamps his hands over his eyes. “Not to sound completely immature and inexperienced, but does it ever get easier?”

 

“I wish it did,” Jon answers honestly. He’s fraught with the nervous energy that Ronan is practically radiating. The story’s coming to a head after two months of almost nothing, and the influx of information, let alone this much emotional labor, is a lot to handle for anyone. “You know you can rest, right? You don’t have to be a boy wonder and juggle three projects when this one is so crucial, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Ronan echoes. He pulls a pillow under his head. Jon stares fondly at the soft slope of his shoulders, the droop of his eyes. 

 

Across the room, Tommy glances over at Jon, then over to Favs. They’re probably doing the weird glance conversation again. Fantastic.

 

“Is there anything else going on?”

 

“Listen, I – don’t know if I can stay in LA, that first week after I move in.”

 

“What?” 

 

“The plans aren’t changing, they just – want me for a thing here on Tuesday. I’d be gone for two days.”

 

“But I’m just getting you back.” Jon’s trying so fucking hard to not get upset. 

 

“You always had me.”

 

He inhales, exhales, counts to ten.

 

“You’re gonna have me,” Ronan adds, softer. “I promise. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to bring it up. I know it’s upsetting.”

 

“Yeah,” Jon says, hollow, trying not to sound like it. “Did you see the thing I sent you this morning?”

 

There’s an awkward pause. “Uh – I don’t think so. Sorry. I’ve been in and out of the library and then interviews and then at home, I haven’t really checked my phone –”

 

“Ro,” Jon interjects. “We talked about this.”

 

“I know.”

 

Another pause.

 

“I’m sorry,” Ronan repeats, and he looks just as sad as Jon feels.

 

Two more weeks, that’s all it has to be. 

 

“I want to be there for you,” Jon says, voice thick. He swallows against the impulse to cry. “At least then I could drag you to bed to get some sleep.”

 

Ronan hums, noncommittal. 

 

“Will you just talk to me for now?” Jon tries, and Ronan nods, grabbing a pillow to squeeze to his chest.

 

The conversation isn’t easy. Jon’s exhausted in the way a wall-to-wall news cycle still manages to drag him back in, almost like he never left DC. It’s easy to fall into old patterns of worry. Neither he nor Ronan have the bandwidth for banter, and at some points, things feel barbed and awkward.  

 

How anyone works in politics, Jon doesn’t know. It’s exhausting just talking about it.

 

Belatedly, he reminds himself that he has the luxury of not thinking about it sometimes, and then feels even worse. 

 

Maybe he’s just sleep deprived.

 

“It’s going to be good no matter what,” Jon says for what feels like the tenth time as Ronan frets over the next piece. “Your book was fantastic. You’re on a good streak for favorability. You’re doing important work.”

 

“I don’t need to be told that,” Ronan says, frustrated. He’s grasping for something just out of his reach, unable to articulate the need. Jon watches him open his mouth, close it, groan in frustration.

 

“I don’t know what else you want to hear.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Ronan adds, quieter. “I’m trying to keep this to myself.”

 

“Okay,” Jon says. It comes out clipped. He still feels like crying.

 

Favs clears his throat. Jon catches him mouthing  _ You okay?  _ from across the office.

 

“Look, it’s almost three in the morning there,” Jon cedes, wiping his hands over his face. “I think you should try to get some rest, yeah? We should talk when you’re in a better place. I want to give you my full attention.”

 

Ronan considers this for a moment, then nods wordlessly. Favs glances at Jon again. Jon avoids his eyes.

 

“I love you, Jonathan,” Ronan finishes. His voice is small. “I love you so goddamn much.”

 

“I love you too, Ronan,” Jon answers. “I’ll talk to you later.”

 

There’s no artificial hanging-up sound as the call ends.

 

Jon disconnects his headphones. 

 

There’s an awkward silence between the three of them in the room.

 

“Hey Jon?” Favs calls gently. “Can you come look at this edit?”

 

On autopilot, he gets up and walks over. Favs’ computer screen – doesn’t have any windows open with text or audio to edit. Just his eight usual tabs and the socials. It’s a transparent attempt to connect, but Jon doesn’t really want to shut him out.

 

“You okay?” Favs asks. He studies Jon’s face in this surprisingly tender way. Of all things, that’s what gets him. 

 

Jon shakes his head no and lets the tears fall. Favs, blessedly, doesn’t say anything. He turns down his computer’s brightness and stands, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist, pulling Jon in and holding him tightly. Favs’ shoulders are broad and his shirt is soft, his breaths even. 

 

“I got you,” Favs says, and a second later, there’s a scratch of a desk chair moving, and the thunk of headphones being set down on a desk, and Tommy’s behind Jon, holding him, kissing his shoulder and sighing. 

 

“It’s so stupid,” Jon manages, voice thin, when he catches his breath. “God, this is so stupid.”

 

“It’s not stupid to be upset about,” Favs counters, wiping Jon’s eyes. The intimacy should be more jarring, but it’s nice. Favs wears a tight expression, concern furrowed in his brow, and Jon closes his eyes against the care in his eyes, swaying back into Tommy’s hold. “You’ll make it. God, like, you’ve made it this far, which is fucking amazing.”

 

Jon starts crying again. 

 

“Two weeks,” Tommy says, and squeezes him tight. “We’ll be here in the meantime.”

  
  


+

 

“I can’t believe you,” Jon says, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. “Fuck, look at you.”

 

Ronan, in all his exhausted glory, smiles back. The light of the hotel hallway makes his cheeks glow. “Two hours is easier than five, right?”

 

“God, come here,” Jon manages, and does the exact fucking opposite, rushing to Ronan and wrapping him in his arms. “You’re so good.”

 

“I’m sorry about last week,” Ronan says as Jon nuzzles him. They aren’t typically very affectionate in public, mostly for fear of someone watching, selling the photos to some gossip site. “I wanted to make it up to you.”

 

“You didn’t have to, but god, I’m so glad you’re here.”

 

“Show’s over?”

 

“Yeah. I was gonna get a shower.”

 

Ronan raises an eyebrow. Jon socks him in the arm. 

 

Regardless, they head upstairs to the suite that Tommy had booked for the three of them, silent on their way up the elevator. Ronan rests his head on Jon’s shoulder, and kisses Jon soft and sweet when he unlocks the door with his keycard, and falls forward into a hug as soon as he puts his bag down. 

 

They stand there, across from the bathroom, swaying in the embrace. Ronan’s henley is perfectly soft under Jon’s fingertips. “C’mon,” Jon says, peeling them apart, opening the door to the ensuite. “Wash off with me.”

 

Ronan lets Jon lead him, lets Jon start the shower and grab the fancy soap he brought. Making out like teenagers and giving rushed handjobs shouldn’t be romantic, but Jon keeps his fingers delicate on Ronan’s hip, the curves of both of their bodies stark under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. Ronan gasps quietly when he comes, and the way his fingers wrap around Jon to return the favor has him at the edge in an embarrassingly short amount of time. 

 

Jon lets himself be stared at as they both catch their breath. After a moment, Ronan leans in to kiss him again.

 

“You’re not worried about Favs and Tommy?” he asks, yawning. He’s pressed chest to chest with Jon as the warm water cascades over them, the almost punishing water pressure perfect when there’s two to share it. 

 

“They’re going out for drinks,” Jon says, kissing the wet skin of Ronan’s collarbone. “I want you to myself for now, though.”

 

“Sounds good.” Ronan smiles back, and then they don’t say anything else until they’ve stepped out of the shower and dried off. Jon tosses him an old t-shirt to pull on, and they pile into one of the queen beds, leave the TV on as white noise in the background.

 

Jon’s used to stolen moments in transient hotels, but they never stop feeling precious.

 

“Here,” Jon offers, propping his back up on some pillows and opening his arms. Ronan crawls and settles across Jon’s body, arms around his ribs, head pillowed on Jon’s chest. It’s nice, to be close again like this, even though it’s just been a few weeks. They’ve been so spoiled with seeing each other so often, preparing to move in together.

 

Absentmindedly, Jon drags his fingers through Ronan’s hair as it dries. They don’t say much except exchanging  _ I love you’s  _ whenever there’s a lull in background noise, or when the air conditioner kicks on and Ronan snuggles impossibly closer. It’s repetitive, sure, but soothing nonetheless.

 

Eventually, Ronan stops echoing the call-and-response, his breath evening out, eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks as he dozes. He’s gorgeous. Jon’s so fond of him.

 

As Ronan  sleeps, Jon replays the visit to the Tiffany’s in LA, opening the memory tentatively. His hands were shaking, sweaty, when he asked about wedding bands. It’s not that it doesn’t feel right. The expectation, the judgement, is just –

 

The electronic door lock buzzes as someone scans a room card.

 

“Heyo! We heard someone special was dropping in –” Tommy starts as he barges into the room, Favs in tow. Jon gives him a death glare as Ronan stirs, then exhales, still asleep.

 

“Oh,  _ shit, _ ” Favs amends. He’s significantly quieter, bless him. “Look at you guys.”

 

“Did you know?” Jon asks, and Favs throws his hands up in exaggerated surrender. 

 

Tommy shrugs, stepping forward. “Finally, the prince rests.”

 

“He’s overworked,” Favs says, like it’s the easiest assertion in the world. “He deserves it.”

 

Jon hums in agreement. 

 

\+ 

 

They’re almost finished unpacking the night after Ronan flies out for what will hopefully be the last time.

 

Outside, the temperature’s dropping from a punishing dry heat to something that requires a quilt to go to sleep comfortably. Jon always thinks of the fennec foxes, among other creatures, who live their whole lives at night, waiting out the burning sun to have free reign in the cool air.

 

He thinks of the creatures in context of L.A. weather, and he thinks of them in context of Ronan waiting out months of sparse visits only to have been planning all along, waiting to live freely together at New York’s sundown.

 

Ronan turns the last of the bathroom lights off, making his way back into the kitchen area. There’s a shirt draped over his shoulder that Jon takes, folding it and placing it on one of the barstools at the island. 

 

It’s quiet, but not in the empty way the house used to feel. It seems like there are things to be fulfilled; whispers of promise in the space.

 

Jon’s always been sentimental.

 

“Hey,” he starts, and Ronan looks at him, weary, curious. “Just – stand here. With me. For a sec.”

 

Ronan presses his forehead to Jon’s, wraps his arms around Jon’s waist. 

 

“I love you,” Ronan whispers, barely audible. Jon closes the space between them, kissing him slow and chaste, holding Ronan’s head in his hands. 

 

“I love you too,” Jon answers, finishing the formality, clutching Ronan right back. “I’m glad you’re here.”

 

As they stand there, surveying the space, Pundit scrabbles down the hallway, dragging a braided rope toy, and settles herself on the couch. She sighs. The washing machine starts its next cycle, filling the quiet with a tangible reminder that Ronan has a permanence here.

 

It feels right, after years of sensible strategy, week-long visits, desire-fraught video calls, and a loneliness that ached in Jon’s ribs. 

 

Now, he drops his head against Ronan’s shoulder and breathes in deep, feels Ronan’s heartbeat there, steady and true.

 

“You replaced me,” Ronan says, faux-wounded. Jon shoved his fingers into his side to get Ronan to crack a smile. He squirms out of Jon’s hold, resting his chin on Jon’s shoulder.

 

“I didn’t replace you,” Jon says. “I supplemented you.” 

 

Ronan sighs. “Details.”

 

“Asshole.”

 

Pundit glares at them from the couch. Her judgement feels more like a kid determined to chastise their parents for cursing than it does the standoffish  _ Keep Out  _ when Dad has his buddies over for dinner.

 

Nothing’s quite the same as holding your partner of literally seven years in a house that never quite felt christened, always a little off from home. Ronan’s a huge part of his life, prime real estate in Jon’s heart. 

 

He’s only just moved in to this place, but already, everything feels different, a reinvention of the space.

It’s exciting, what they might make next.

 

“Someone told me the master bedroom in this place was real nice,” Ronan whispers, and Jon smiles. 

 

“It’s yours now, too.”

 

“I know, but I still need the crash course.”

 

“You’ve been here before.”

 

“Live a little.”

 

Jon chuckles despite himself. “Fine. Come spoon me like a grown up.”

 

Ronan doesn’t wait to take Jon’s hand and head down the hall.

 

+

 

In July, Jon finds out that there's a group chat that, in theory, should definitely include him in it – and the three dudes of the commune wouldn’t just leave him out.

 

Would they?

 

“We didn’t like, make it with the intent of exclusion,” Tommy says, placing a hand over Jon’s on the coffee table, and Jon’s stomach drops, his brain racing. No, they totally did. There’s no way they didn’t. 

 

“We made it to take care of you,” Favs explains. Jon blinks, looking up at him. “Sometimes you don’t want to ask for help when you need it.”

 

“You didn’t need to,” Jon says, surprisingly collected for how raw and betrayed he feels. They sat here for upwards of two hours after Ronan left; watching Top Gun, indulging Jon’s need to be hugged and affirmed. 

 

Favs even stuck his feet under Jon’s thigh. That should mean something, right?

 

Ronan sighs from where he’s slouched against the door. “We didn’t mean for it to come across as condescending or childish.”

 

Jon looks at him. He should know, of all people, about this fear of dishonesty, intentionally kept off the list with the wool pulled over his eyes. 

 

“Hey,” Favs adds softly, and Jon tears his eyes away from Ronan. “I told you, you may be a handful, but you’re OUR handful.”

 

Jon – doesn’t know how to feel. “Guys.”

 

Ronan crosses over, climbing into Jon’s lap, and kisses him gently. His touch is familiar, fingers brushing Jon’s neck, his ear.

 

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you,” Ronan says as he pulls away, and then cocks his head towards where Favs has his forearms resting on his legs, folded in on himself. “I think these two would say the same.”

 

“If you aren’t comfortable with it, we can delete it and disband,” Tommy announces, tucking his chin over Jon’s shoulder. “Promise. It wasn’t the smartest move, honestly.”

 

“Can I think about it?”

 

“Yeah,” Favs says, unfolding and kissing Ronan’s cheek, then Jon’s. “Until then, can we make it up to you?”

 

“The apology works,” Jon manages. His voice breaks. “I appreciate you guys admitting fault.”

 

“Of course,” Tommy says, and Ronan tips his head again, pressing a kiss to Jon’s cheek to coax him to turn his head. Tommy kisses Jon firm but chaste, the intent clear. Ronan’s still in his lap, and Jon feels the anxiety in his stomach melt into a different feeling altogether. 

 

“Parks and Rec?” Favs says, perking up at how Jon’s letting himself relax, reaching over to tug Favs towards him. 

 

“Stand up?” Ronan suggests.

 

“Project Runway?” Tommy offers, and Jon looks at him as if to say  _ Who’s the gay one again? _

 

“Yes,” Jon says, and Favs laughs. “Unbelievable.”

 

Tommy’s already moving over on the couch so that Jon can cuddle in, glaring fondly at Favs the entire time.

 

(If he shivers when Ronan mumbles  _ I love you  _ and kisses his neck, no one needs to know.)

 

+

 

On Friday, they walk the dogs all together, taking them to the park before piling onto the Favreaus’ porch for drinks. Emily and Hanna are embroiled in a conversation about crime shows, Leo and Lucca in their laps. On the other bench, Favs and Tommy are chatting about Patriots training camp. Pundit wormed her way under Favs’ elbow, and he’s scratching at her head absentmindedly as the sky goes soft purple, orange on the horizon.

 

Ronan shoots Jon a look, putting his drink down on the way back into the house. He closes the door behind them as Jon follows him into the spacious bathroom on the first floor of Favs and Emily’s house. “What’s up,” Jon asks, threading his fingers in Ronan’s, and Ronan lists against his chest. Jon leans back into the counter to let it take some of their weight.

 

“I’m just feeling kind of burnt out,” Ronan says, letting Jon trace his jaw, cradle his face in his hands. “I dunno.” Ronan makes a vague hand gesture. “Socializing. Too hard.”

 

“I get it,” Jon answers. And he does, figuratively and literally holding Ronan up now, pressing kisses to Ronan’s cheek, his pulse point, his shoulder, squeezing his hand. “We don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to. It’s been a long week.”

 

“Can we –”

 

“I can let them know, yeah. I think Pundit’s tired out anyway, from all the excitement.”

 

Ronan presses his face into Jon’s shoulder. It feels like a privilege, to see him this vulnerable.

 

“It’s okay,” Jon soothes, and Ronan tilts his head up to meet Jon’s lips. A slow kiss, an old-marrieds kiss, Jon thinks, and it’s – comfortable. Ronan’s hands are warm where they’re pressed to Jon’s back. 

 

“Let’s finish up, then,” Ronan says, pulling away. He looks a little more alive already. “We can crate the dog, you can fuck me nice and slow and sappy.”

 

“Oh, stop,” Jon says, but he’s overflowing with affection. “Five bucks says you give up on going slow and ride me again.”

 

“Maybe I will,” Ronan teases. His eyes are sparkling now. God, when did Jon sell out to become this soft? “You know how much I love taking you inch by inch until you’re all open mouth and  _ Please, babe, move, god, your ass  _ –”

 

“I do  _ not _ sound like that, thanks very much.”

 

Ronan fakes a gasping sound, a little whine, exaggerating his voice. “Oh, Ronan,  _ yeah,  _ just like that, wanna feel you come –”

 

Jon shoves him, but both of their breathing has picked up, and Jon knows his cheeks are red. He doesn’t bother to look in the mirror to check.

 

“Keep talking like that and I’m gonna bend you over the bathroom counter.”

 

“Are you now?”

 

“You don’t believe me?”

 

Ronan leans down to kiss him with more intention this time, opening his mouth just enough to make it dirty. Jon lets his hands wander to Ronan’s thighs, his ass, pressing him even more against one of Jon’s thighs. 

 

And like, they were joking before, but, uh, it wouldn’t be the first time.

 

Someone knocks on the door. Loudly.

 

Emily’s voice floats in from the other side. “Hey, Tommy and Hanna are heading out, can you two at least have the decency to say goodbye?”

 

“Yeah, we’ll be right out,” Ronan calls, and Jon glares at him. 

 

“I hate you,” Jon hisses. “God, this is so unfair.”

 

“It’s a six minute drive,” Ronan responds, plain and coy. “You’ve done longer plane rides.”

 

Jon rolls his eyes and pulls away, straightening Ronan’s shirt for him before brushing at his own.  There’s an air-conditioned house with plenty of food –  _ their  _ air-conditioned house, both of their terrible Trader Joe’s hauls – to go home to. Today, and for the foreseeable future, after years of being apart.

 

Suddenly, things don’t seem so urgent.

 

He presses a kiss to Ronan’s forehead and takes a deep breath before opening the door.


End file.
